I discovered mysticism when I was 15.
Having grown up with an unhappy home life I immediately saw it as a way to overcome what I thought was generic suffering and struggle in life.
My approach to mysticism was firmly focused on the negative conditions I wished to overcome, with the promise that if I could just get my unenlightened mind out of the way, then everything would be perfect exactly as it was.
But the mystics I was reading didn’t necessarily envisage dysfunctional conditions as the starting point.
Even theologically: samsara, the vale of tears, the fallen human condition…these include all forms of evil and suffering in life, but more specifically they refer to a systematic spiritual condition.
That’s why Buddhists want to be born into conditions that make it easier to achieve enlightenment. It’s hard to focus on enlightenment when you’re fleeing for your life from war or famine.
Detachment was supposed to be the starting point, the necessary condition for the vision of God within all and beyond all.
It was our attachment to worldly things, through our desires and aversions, that rendered us blind to the supreme being behind and above it all.
I practiced detachment to counteract the suffering and negative conditions in my everyday life, with the understanding that if I could first find freedom from those bonds, the Way would then assert itself naturally and gently into my experience.
And then everything would be all right.
But my vision of the goal was a purely negative one: freedom from suffering and affliction and constraints. My ideal was limited to a kind of neutral spiritual ease and flow where I’d be freed from troubles but also empty of self and any kind of satisfaction or personal preference.
I’m now recognising that my lack of personal preference and the goal of neutrality and perfection amidst the conditions that had caused suffering and struggle still reflect unhealthy adaptations to unhappy childhood circumstances.
“There’s no point complaining, nothing is going to change, so just accept it.”
Detachment as a spiritual principle is not supposed to affirm the submissiveness or depersonalisation of a child who feels crushed and bullied. Being good at ignoring one’s own feelings is not the kind of strength that spiritual freedom can grow from.
Nonetheless this was my ideal: to become a spiritual non-person, inspired by the Buddhist themes of “no self” and Christian themes of “dying to self”.
I don’t want to invalidate those themes that used to inspire me, and I don’t think my inspiration was wholly bad or off course. But combining spiritual ideals with personal dysfunction explains why my path didn’t lead where I thought it should.
Embracing the positive thinking/law of attraction material taught by Esther Hicks under the guise of “Abraham” set me on a course that would redeem my past spiritual ideals without prolonging the dysfunctional aspects of submissiveness and depersonalisation. Sorting the wheat from the chaff, not in the teachings of others but in my own foundational beliefs and self-perception.
I was always good at practicing detachment. But detachment is only the first stage in a spiritual rapprochement with the divine.
Where I went wrong in the past was in asking or expecting the divine to do something impossible – make me happy amidst profoundly unhappy conditions. Or more pointedly, to make me happy despite holding beliefs that ran utterly counter to my happiness.
Just as a minor example: if you believe in divine providence, you should not feel anxious about anything let alone material wealth and comfort. Divine providence conflicts with a stingy, fearful mindset about money.
Yet if we think that being a miser is in fact a good and virtuous way to live, then we cannot fully embrace the divine being in our lives.
Spiritual austerity or the abundance of life?
The way I saw it was that God had created everything in perfection, but humanity somehow went wrong.
That wrongness in us was perpetuated through our desires and aversions to the things of life.
But if we could let go of our desires and aversions we would find God waiting for us with a spiritual perfection that transforms everything.
My mistake was in thinking that desires and aversions had no place in the scheme of things other than as a symptom of our fallen nature.
But our preferences – consisting of desires and aversions – are the material of our individual lives.
The detachment required is not supposed to be our final resting place, but is to be practiced as a means of preparing ourselves for a much greater life.
Jesus said “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”
But we cannot accept or receive that abundant life unless we are detached from the constraints and limitations of our present existence, where negative beliefs and expectations keep us mired in the same patterns of behaviour and the same familiar experience.
It’s obvious in the Gospels that the people whom Jesus healed strongly desired healing, and their faith was synonymous with the detachment from their prior condition of sickness.
They did not simply detach from the desire for health or the aversion to sickness and limply or dispassionately observe their change in physical condition.
They did not say “Oh, now that I am no longer caught up in my desires and aversions, I notice that I am healthy.”
No, they were joyful and full of appreciation.
So I think the answer is to practice detachment with the faith and expectation that my desires will be fulfilled – practice detachment so as to desire more strongly, detaching not from the things of love and joy that enlighten my life, but from the restrictions, disbelief, and fears that cast a shadow over it.
It is not detachment into emptiness, but detachment into possibility, promise, and therefore faith, hope, and love.